


Only A Step Away From Being Happy

by waroftheposes



Series: No Mistake Is Too Great [2]
Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: Omar has spent a very long time ignoring the pain in his chest, trying to do whatever it took to make his mother happy. There had been weeks and weeks where he'd thought that he'd never talk to Ander again; that he'd ruined his relationship beyond repair and hurt the only person he'd ever loved. He'd dreaded the future without Ander, all the while trying to convince himself that it was necessary.And now that he's reconciled with Ander, all Omar wants to do is introduce Ander to his parents the right way.--a sequel





	Only A Step Away From Being Happy

**Author's Note:**

> _ Estoy tan sólo a un paso de ganarme la alegría _
> 
> \---  
This work is a sequel and won't make any sense if read by itself.

Ander’s face becomes unreadable after Omar suggests that they go back to his parents’ and tell them that the wedding is off. His hands squeeze Omar’s tightly at first, a smile growing on his face, but gradually the smile wanes and Ander’s hands relax.

“Introduce me to your parents?” Ander asks. “Is that the best idea right now?”

Omar hadn’t thought about whether such an introduction was the best idea or not. He’d spent a very long time focused on what his mom wanted and ignoring the pain in his own chest. He'd spent weeks and weeks thinking he'd never talk to Ander again, the only person he had ever loved. He'd dreaded that future, all the while trying to convince himself that it was necessary.

And now that the issue is resolved and his life is on it’s way to becoming normal, happiness has overwhelmed his senses, filling him with lightness and glee. There’s so much energy bouncing around inside him, Omar feels like he’s vibrating, feels like he should stand or run or shout. Is it a good idea to introduce Ander to his parents right now? Of course it is. Of course. He didn’t introduce Ander to his parents for ten years, not the right way. Why not do it now that he’s avoided separating himself from Ander forever?

“Yeah, I think it’s the best idea right now.”

Ander looks away from him, pensive. His mouth moves, teeth sinking in and out of his bottom lip. His grip on Omar’s hand tightens again. “I don’t think we should do it today.”

His words are said carefully and slowly, but their effect on Omar is instantaneous. He feels cold at hearing them. Whatever high Omar had been feeling as a result of their reunion dwindles. “Why?”

“Because you just left your own wedding,” Ander responds. “I realize that this was a quickly arranged marriage, but you told your family you would get married to this woman and then you didn’t.” He pauses. “Imagine how angry they must be.”

Realization begins to dawn, and slowly Omar nods.

“And then you tell them you’ve been lying to them for years? Even if you were straight or they were, you know… more accepting, I think they would be furious…”

The unfortunate thing, Omar thinks, listening to Ander explain his reasoning, is that Ander is right. He releases Ander’s hand, letting himself slump back into the couch with a sigh. The fact is that Ander’s being logical. Although that logic is unappealing to Omar, he’s starting to understand the weight that his actions carry. Omar closes his eyes, bringing his palms to his temples. He left someone at the altar today.

It takes him several moments before he can talk again. “So what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest you go and tell your parents you won’t get married, tell them the truth about why you even suggested doing it in the first place, deal with that fallout and _then_ we’ll tell them about us.”

“But then I have to deal with two fallouts,” Omar says. Ander’s idea is good, but he’s not considering that if they leave out their relationship for a separate time, then there’ll be two shouting matches, two days of screaming and crying.

“I know,” Ander says. “But I think it’s worth it. I don’t think your parents can handle both the abandoned wedding and the revelation about your sexuality today.”

Omar tries to think about this statement carefully. That Ander thinks it’s important to separate the two events has to matter, because Ander has always wanted to tell Omar’s parents about the two of them. In the past he’d said he’d take _any_ opportunity to tell them, as long as Omar was willing. And for the past few weeks, Omar has not only been unfair, but even cruel to Ander. Even if he’s been forgiven, he thinks that he owes Ander _something_, and if that something is to keep their relationship a secret from his parents for a while, well then...

“Ok,” Omar says finally. “I won’t tell them today.”

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Omar says again, trying to get his heart on board with the decision. He’d been so excited to tell his parents, to not hide anymore, to not be a coward. He’d been excited even though he knew they would be angry. Now he feels deflated. “Will you come with me?”

Ander’s brows furrow. “You want me to come?”

“For emotional support?” It’s Omar who grabs Ander’s hand this time, squeezing it. “I don’t know if I can face them without you.”

Ander’s lips lift hesitantly, then a bit more. The smile that he finally produces is encouraging but small. He looks down at their joined hands. “I won’t be able to hold your hand.”

Omar smiles back. “It’s ok, it’s the thought that counts.”

Ander’s smile widens. “I guess I can think about holding your hand the whole time.”

\--

As he and Ander near his parents’ store, Omar’s heart begins beating painfully in his chest and he is seized by an increasing feeling of dread. The apprehension keeps growing until they reach the door, where Omar stops Ander and takes out his phone to call his sister.

She comes out quickly, checking behind her every few seconds until she reaches them. As soon as she’s within touching distance of Omar, she throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs him, squeezing her fingers against his back. When she pulls back, several seconds later, her eyes bounces between Omar and Ander, worried.

“Mom is physically ok,” she says when Omar asks after their mother. “She was feeling faint so she sat down and she’s been quiet for a very long time, but she’s fine. I’ve been watching her.”

Omar nods. He hadn’t thought about the physical and emotional state his mother would be, or what this shock would do to her. For the first time since he left his parents’ house this morning, Omar is thinking about more than just his own happiness.

“Dad is…” she pauses, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “He’s angry, but it’s something else. Like he’s confused. I mean don’t get me wrong, he’s _angry_. Mainly because he gave Maryam’s family his word, and he doesn’t like it when he has to break a promise, and he definitely sold you as a model son,” she pauses, as if to emphasize how untrue that statement has proven to be, at least when it came to this wedding. “But he seems more pensive than angry.”

“Ok,” Omar says taking it all in. “Do you think it’s a good idea for me to go inside and talk to them now?”

Nadia doesn’t answer.

“Is it just your parents in there?” Ander asks.

Nadia nods. “You guys have been gone for hours. The _imam_ gave up and left a long time ago, mainly because no one could get a hold of Omar. Maryam and her family left about an hour ago.”

Ander turns to Omar. “If it’s just your parents…”

He’s right, if it’s just Omar’s parents, it’ll be easier, less messy. Omar bites his lip, looking up at Ander, trying to convince himself that he can do this. “If it’s just them…”

Ander grips his shoulders. “You just have to tell them, get through it.”

Omar attempts to smile, but his traitorous face forms a grimace instead. He wants to communicate to Ander how grateful he feels that Ander is there with him, but he’s not sure how. In the end, all he can do is ask, “Come?” his voice coming out weak and unsure.

Before Ander can answer, Nadia asks, “Is that the best idea? I’m not sure how mom and dad are going to react if they see you two together, especially after you skipped the wedding.” She’s been watching the exchange, and Omar thinks she looks, if anything, more worried than she was before. “Ander can stay in the store with me.”

“No.”

Omar watches as Nadia’s brows furrow, and then, patiently, slowly. “Do you think now is the best time for this?”

“No,” he responds simply, then looks to Ander for the explanation.

“He just wants to apologize about the wedding,” Ander says. “Nothing more, not today.”

“And you’re here for…?”

“Moral support,” Omar answers at the same time that Ander says, “Hand holding.”

It might be the two simultaneous responses, or the relief from the fact that Omar didn’t go through with the arranged marriage or… something else, but Nadia smiles, indulgent and loving, before stepping forward to hug Omar again. His arms wrap around her waist and he lifts her, holding her as tightly as he can, trying to convey his gratitude and love. 

“Thank you,” he says when she steps away. “For trying to get to me even though I wasn’t listening. For…” he stops, gesturing towards Ander.

“Getting my ass in gear,” Ander adds.

“And for not giving up on us,” Omar finishes. “Even though we were just about ready to.”

Nadia's lips lift, her smile shifting from smug to genuine. “You’re welcome.”

The three of them walk into the store together, Nadia holding the door open for Omar and Ander, and then following them to the back. At the door to the apartment, Omar pauses, feeling faint. 

“Right here with you,” Ander whispers to him.

Omar grips Ander’s arm briefly before letting go and opening the door with a trembling hand. 

His parents are sitting together on the living room couch. His mother has her legs tucked behind her, leaning to one side and staring at the ceiling. His father is sitting next to her, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

They look up in unison when Omar opens the door.

Omar struggles not to turn around, to take Ander’s hand and drag him back to the safe space of their apartment. He watches his father glance briefly at Ander and Nadia, gaze lingering on Ander for a second too long. But Omar’s father doesn’t say anything to either of them. His focus shifts to Omar after he’s surveyed Omar’s companions. Omar’s mother’s gaze hasn’t left him since he opened the door.

Silence stretches between them, stifling and overwhelming, but as much as Omar wants this silence to end, he’s not sure how to begin. He looks down at his hands, then back up at his parents.

“Hi,” he manages.

His mother nods, his father gestures for him to come forward.

The gesture is not only permission, but the spark that Omar needed to begin this process. He goes toward his parents, unaware of whether Ander and Nadia follow him. He wanted Ander here for emotional support, insisted on him being here even, but at this point, Ander can’t do anything for him, can’t even hold his hand as he confronts his parents.

When Omar has taken a seat beside his mother, his father speaks.

“Explain.”

His voice is strained, stilted. From the way his brows knit together and his eyes avoid Omar, Omar can tell that he’s visibly holding back emotion. Again, Omar begins to feel bad, not for leaving the wedding (never for that), but for disappointing his father.

“I…” He looks towards the door again, Ander and Nadia are still there, leaning against the wall. Ander smiles hesitantly, lifting his chin, the kind of resolve in his eyes that Omar needs to help him go on. Omar turns toward his parents again. “I made a mistake.”

Looking at his parents now, Omar knows full heartedly that Ander and Nadia were right; there is no way he can tell his parents about his relationship today. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. But even though Omar can’t tell them the full truth today, he wants to tell them as much of the truth as he can. 

“When mom got sick, she asked me for this…” he gestures around himself, at the decorations, reminders of the wedding he escaped. “Asked me to marry a nice Muslim girl. And I thought…” Omar stops, preparing the lie. He can’t look his parents in the eye while doing this. He’s not sure he could look them in the eye even if he was telling the truth. “Of course, I can do this one thing for her. She’s my mother, I owe it to her to make her happy.”

Mostly he had thought, at the time of her asking, that she would die disappointed. He was happy, he was in love, he was _gay. _But the fight with Ander had broken something inside him, had made his sadness about his mother and his guilt about keeping Ander a secret for so many years poison his view of their relationship. Omar had stupidly concluded that his boyfriend didn’t want him anymore. Only then, at his lowest point, had he been able to comply with his mother’s request.

“But I couldn’t. I tried… I tried really hard mom,” he looks up at his mother then, willing her to understand how much she means to him, how much both his parents do. “But I couldn’t go through with it. I didn’t even _know _her, we’d barely spoken.” _And I’m gay and I’m in love with someone else, and I’ve been in love with him for years._

_Later_, Omar promises himself. He looks up. Silent tears are falling from his mother’s eyes.

“I want to marry someone I love,” he says finally, forcing the words out through the emotions blocking his throat. “I want to love them before I marry them.”

_Him_. His mind supplies forcefully. He has to fight so that he doesn’t turn around to look at Ander.

His mother reaches out then, cupping his face. “Omar,” she whispers, words thick with tears. “I love you and I want you to be _happy._ I want that more than anything. I’m sorry you thought you had to do something like this for me.”

Omar holds her hand with both of his. “Please don’t apologize,” he tells her. “It was my fault.”

She pulls him forward, pushes her face against his and holds him. He holds her, arms wrapping around her, feeling her tears against his own face.

He doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing.

His mother is still holding him, when his father stands up. Omar pulls back, looking up at his father.

“Come with me.” It’s not an order, but it’s said in a way that Omar knows he can’t refuse.

His mother kisses his cheek twice as he stands to follow his father back into the store.

When Nadia and Ander make to follow, Omar’s father shakes his head.

So it’s just him and his father then, alone in the store. They stand together for some time, Omar looking down at his feet, feeling his father’s gaze on him. When his father finally speaks, he doesn’t sound as angry as Omar imagined he would be.

“You’ve made a great mistake,” he sighs, like it pains him to admit this, pains him to even come to terms with it. “You’ve made mistakes before, and I must admit they were worse. But after those mistakes, you showed yourself a good son by following directions and setting an example of righteous action.” He pauses, sighing, and Omar looks up, catching his eye. The thing about Omar’s past mistakes were that although he got in trouble for them, he wasn’t able to think about how disappointed his parents may have been in him, not when they took away all his freedom. He’d worked hard to get back into their good graces not because he had been sorry, but because he’d wanted his phone and social life back. But this time it’s different. Now that he’s an adult, his parents can’t take away his freedom. Because he’s an adult, his only consequence is his parent’s shame.

Omar drops his gaze.

“The horrible thing is that I understand why you did it,” his father continues. His tone is normal, and though he has not given any indication that he is losing his temper, Omar is still surprised by it. “Not the running away, that I’m still trying to process. I mean agreeing to a wedding because of your mother. I would have done something similar if it meant making my sick mother happy. So I understand you son, even if I’m unhappy,” Omar’s father pauses. “Here’s the real issue: we gave Maryam and her family our word.”

Omar looks up for a second time, about to ask a question, but his father raises a hand to stop him.

“I won’t make you marry someone you don’t want to. You’re an adult and the fact of the matter is that I can’t. But I want you to apologize to Maryam and her family because I, and by extension you, gave that girl and that family our word, and now we have broken it.”

“That’s it?” Omar asks, surprised. “All you want me to do is apologize?”

His father nods. “I understand why you did it,” he says again. “I’m even starting to understand why you couldn’t go through with the wedding. But that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed. Your mother won’t realize it, but she’s disappointed too. This would have been a good marriage for you, we’ve known Maryam’s family for a long time. They’re good, god-fearing people. Your mother and I also don’t like that you haven’t settled down, that you’re single. We worry.”

The word _single_ slams against Omar, and he opens his mouth immediately to contradict such a _wrong _statement, but he closes it a moment after. Now is not the time to talk to his father about Ander. _Later,_ Omar reminds himself. “I want to settle down,” he tells his father instead. “But with the right person.”

His father only nods and pats him on the back, he turns to go back to the apartment, as if now that the conversation is over, he doesn’t want to be in Omar’s company any longer. As Omar follows his father back inside, he thinks that this could have gone worse. He’d expected real anger, tears and screaming. He’d expected his parents to demand that he go and apologize to Maryam and then marry her immediately. This reaction is more like a slap to the wrist. Omar feels like he should be happy, and although he’s not happy, he _is_ relieved.

Happiness though… Omar thinks happiness will only come to him when he tells his parents about Ander. But he’s so close now, he can almost feel it.

Inside, Ander and Nadia are sitting with Omar’s mom. She’s leaning into Nadia and talking to Ander, smiling at him as she talks. The sight of them makes Omar smile too; it warms his heart that his mother gets along with Ander, that she likes him. He hears his father shift besides him, and when he looks to his side, he sees his father watching him pensively. Omar opens his mouth to ask what his father is thinking, but his father shakes his head, dispelling whatever had been occupying his mind.

“Ok,” Omar’s father says as he takes a seat next to his wife and daughter. He motions for Omar to join them on the couch and doesn’t look twice when Omar sits next to Ander. “So this apology for Maryam and her family,” he says after Omar has settled down. “I was thinking you can invite everyone over to your apartment for dinner.”

\--

Omar’s father’s request to have dinner at the apartment nags at Omar all day, even though he agrees to it immediately. Omar doesn’t really want to have strangers come to his apartment, he doesn’t even really want his parents to come to his apartment at this point in his life.

The thing about Omar and Ander’s apartment is that Omar’s parents know very little about it and have never been to it. They think that Omar and Ander rent it, and that Omar moved there to help Ander pay the rent. Except both those things are a complete lie. The apartment was never rented by Omar and Ander, it used to belong to Ander’s parents and when he became an adult, they gave it to him. Ander had suggested they move to it even before they became legal adults, so that Omar didn’t feel stuck in his parents’ place anymore. Omar had told Ander to wait a few years so that he could legally move out, and as soon as he’d turned eighteen he’d stayed true to his words and moved in with Ander. However, to keep the true nature of Omar’s relationship a secret, there had been a complicated web of lies that were told to Omar’s parents when he moved out of their home.

The first was that Omar met Ander through Guzman; they were friends, but only because Guzman and Nadia had become an item. Their friendship, the second lie, was made to seem very recent. The third lie and the one that Omar’s parents really objected to was that Ander wanted to move out of his parents’ house because he wished to be independent and Omar was moving in with him so that he could afford the rent.

Omar’s parents did not like this lie because they didn’t like that Omar would be spending money on an apartment when he could be living for free at home. At that point, however, Omar had found a job and was going to move out either way. His parents had reluctantly given their blessing, grumbling on their best days and downright calling him ungrateful on their worst, and had never deemed it worthy to visit his apartment.

Which is great because their refusal to visit means that the apartment displays everything about Omar’s life that his parents don’t know about; mainly, his relationship. There are pictures of him an Ander all over the apartment, there is only one bed, despite the two bedrooms. It is very decidedly the apartment of a couple, not two single people who are friends.

When Omar and Ander return to the apartment after talking with Omar’s parents, Omar looks at the apartment with new eyes. As he looks around at his pictures, at his and Ander’s stuff, Omar thinks that there is no way, absolutely no way, that they can change this apartment enough in a day or two, so that it looks like it’s inhabited by two bachelors.

“It’s fine,” Ander says for the third time, when Omar says this. To be fair to Ander, Omar has been mumbling about this since they left his parents’ place. “We can just get rid of the pictures.” In fact he’s already moving towards the wall, as if to begin doing just that.

“And buy a whole new bed?” Omar asks incredulously.

Ander turns around, looking at Omar like he’s an idiot. “We’ll keep the doors closed, why would anyone even need to go toward the bedrooms?”

Omar doesn’t know but he thinks that someone could accidentally go to a bedroom. They could ask for the bathroom and get lost in the hallway. They could just be plain fucking nosy. They could be snooping, trying to find the _real_ reason why Omar wouldn’t go through with the wedding.

Ander rolls his eyes when Omar says this. “That’s your anxiety speaking,” he says. “People don’t just _snoop. _Now help me take down these pictures.”

The change of topic is clearly meant to put an end to the conversation about the bed, and Omar, because he doesn’t want to repeat the same thing, concedes. “But,” he says, clinging to another aspect of the dinner that makes him unhappy, as he watches Ander take a framed photograph off the wall. “I don’t want to take down our pictures.”

Ander turns to him, cradling the photograph to his chest. “It’s just for one night, then they can go back up.”

Ander is right, it is just for one night, but Omar hates the fact that they’re taking them down in the first place, hates it because it means that they’re hiding their relationship in their own apartment. “Ander,” he says, unsure of how to continue. This whole mess started because he didn’t tell his parents about being gay. Their fight, the almost wedding, everything could have been avoided if Omar wasn’t in the goddamn closet. And yet here was Ander, actively helping him keep himself in the closet just to appease his parents.

“Yeah?”

Omar is not in the closet, not really. His sister and friends know about Ander. His coworkers and even his boss know about Ander. Omar goes to Ander’s parents’ house for dinner often. He’s not in the closet to anyone except his parents. In front of them he has to pretend and although they’re just two people, the pretending has always weighed on him, made him feel like a coward, made him hate himself a little in the darkest corners of his mind. This apartment has been a haven away from that pretence. Omar doesn’t want his apartment, his haven, his safe place to become like his parents’ home; he doesn’t want his apartment to be falsified, not even for one night.

He doesn’t want to pretend with Ander, not here.

“I can’t,” he finally manages to say. “I don’t want to do this, to pretend. I don’t want you to pretend we're not together. Not here.”

Ander places the photograph gently on a coffee table. “We kinda have to, and I don’t mind.” He walks forward, cradling Omar’s face with his hands. “I really don’t mind, I promise.”

Omar knows that Ander doesn’t mind because Ander has been patient and forgiving with him since they’ve met. He also knows that Ander will do pretty much anything for him, will go through even the most uncomfortable situations to make Omar happy, will actively ignore his own happiness for Omar’s sake. But Omar is tired of taking from Ander. He doesn’t want Ander to pretend just so they can keep up this ruse.

Sighing, Omar shrugs off Ander’s hands and picks up the photo, walking toward the wall. “How long are you gonna be ok with me doing this?”

By _this_ he means all the things he demands from Ander. First his attention, then the lies. He thought Ander would get tired of waiting around for him, would get tired of chasing after him every time he pushed Ander away. Even now, he keeps expecting Ander to leave him, to find someone better, someone who doesn’t have to be scared of showing Ander to his parents. He keeps expecting it and yet…

“Forever, if I have to.” He feels Ander’s arms wrap around him from behind and Ander’s chin on his shoulder. “I love you,” Ander says softly. His arms slowly turn Omar around to face him. “I love you more than anyone,” Ander says, resting his forehead against Omar’s. “If this is what you need to do for your parents, then I will help you do it.”

“I love you too,” Omar whispers. “But…”

“No. No but. You love me. I love you. I don’t mind pretending to make everyone you’ve pissed off happy and then once they’ve calmed down enough, we tell your parents about us. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Anyways, I feel responsible too. If I wasn’t so keen on getting you back, maybe you would have gone through with the marriage.”

Omar can’t even imagine such a scenario. He has to close his eyes, just to get rid of that thought. “Don’t, please.”

“It’s ok, I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Omar gives a small nod. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

Omar smiles, leaning forward to gently brush his lips against Ander’s.

They put away all the photos that indicate a romantic relationship between them.

\--

“It’s funny,” Nadia is saying as she watches Guzman’s attempt at cooking and Ander’s increasingly ridiculous attempts at helping. “Dad said let’s have dinner at your place, completely forgetting that you can’t cook.”

“To be fair,” Omar responds. “I don’t think he was thinking about that.”

It’s true, Omar can’t really cook. Ander can kind of cook, but doesn’t like to. Out of the four of them, the only person with any ability to make something more than edible is Guzman. This is why he’s here at their apartment at noon on the day of the dinner, cooking.

Ander said he would help when Guzman and Nadia showed up, but he’s only adding to the chaos of the kitchen.

Omar and Nadia are sitting at the bar in the kitchen, watching and planning for the night. Omar’s nerves are hindering him from settling on a way to apologize. His sister is patiently listening to his apology, commenting at his word-choice and expressions. Although the two of them have been at it for well over an hour, Omar feels no closer to knowing how he’s going to seek the apology.

“Pass me the turmeric,” Guzman says to Ander, pointing to the spice rack.

“What’s a turmeric?”

“Fuck, Ander,” Guzman says, turning away from the meat that he is seasoning. “Have you ever cooked anything in your life?”

Ander just shrugs and points toward a spice. It’s green. “Is this it?”

“No.” Guzman pushes him away and picks up the spice that he needs. “Turmeric is yellow and you’re useless. Go stand by your boyfriend and stop getting in my way.”

Omar watches as Ander gives Guzman a sheepish smile and joins him and Nadia by the bar. “How’s the rehearsal going?”

Omar closes his eyes. “Terrible. I can’t do it. I don’t even know _how _to begin to apologize, let alone do it in a respectful way.”

“Hey,” Ander says, coming to Omar’s side, cradling his face. “You can do it,” and when Omar tries to look away, he uses his hands to push Omar’s face back toward himself. “You can.”

Omar doesn’t say anything, just looks into Ander’s beautiful, sincere eyes, and feels a bit reassured.

Next to them, Nadia coughs. Ander startles, letting his hands drop from Omar’s face and turning to look at Nadia.

“So,” Nadia says to him. “You’re a hero. Just calm and collected and reasonable. Omar said he was freaking out about tonight and you convinced him that he can do it. This is wildly out of character for you. ”

“Hey!” Ander says, scandalized. “I have my moments.”

“Aha,” Nadia is smiling. “So how did you rationalize all this?” She gestures toward their empty walls and their apartment, cleaned that very morning in anticipation of guests.

“It’s one night right? And like, Omar’s come this far in apologizing, he shouldn’t stop because he’s afraid of having people over at the apartment.”

“I’m not afraid, man,” Omar cuts in. “I just didn’t want to take our pictures down and pretend like we’re roommates.”

Both Ander and Nadia turn to him.

“I know.” Ander reaches over, tangling his fingers in Omar’s hair. It’s always been his thing, needing to touch Omar when they’re near each other. Today he’s been more handsy, as if anticipating tonight’s ordeals. “I know, but I also know that apologizing will make your parents happy, and you, by extension."

Omar leans into Ander’s fingers. “It’s just weird that dad asked me to have it here. Why _here?_ He wants to have people he respects over so that I can win them over, but he doesn’t even know if this place is presentable.”

The apartment is _very_ presentable actually. It belonged to Ander’s grandparents before it belonged to his father and it’s big, airy, and, thanks to Ander’s parents, very well taken care of. Omar has also been meticulous in taking care of the place, in keeping it clean and decorating it, because it’s the first time that he’s had his own space. Omar had been excited beyond words to have this apartment and his excitement had urged Ander as well. They’d begun decorating even before they moved in, and although Ander gave up on decorating completely after a few weeks, he has been working as hard as Omar to keep the apartment clean.

“It _is_ weird,” Nadia agrees then gestures toward the bar, to a place that used to store a photograph of herself, Guzman, Ander and Omar. “Where did you stash all your pictures?”

“Bedroom,” Omar says.

“The place looks absolutely unrecognizable without them.” Nadia’s statement is an echo of what Omar has been feeling.

“Just for tonight though.” Ander’s hand has moved to the bottom of Omar’s neck and is moving in gentle, soothing circles. “As soon as everyone leaves we’ll put them back up.”

His words are meant to reassure Omar and they do to a degree. He can do the pretending for tonight and once the charade is over he can have his pictures and his apartment back. He _can _do this, he just hates it. Hates it with so much of his being that even the thought of the dinner is making him nauseous, and the anxiety is keeping him from coming up with ways to apologize. He’s about to say something, to let Nadia and Ander know about this issue, but Guzman speaks up from the kitchen.

“Ander, I need help.”

Both Nadia and Ander turn at his demand, looking surprised and smug at Guzman’s helplessness. 

“I thought I was useless,” Ander teases as he walks back into the kitchen and takes a knife that Guzman is holding out to him.

“And clueless,” Guzman supplies, “But… Better to have a clueless assistant than no assistant at all, so...” He takes the knife back and asks Ander for a paper towel. He doesn’t release Ander from assistant duties for the rest of the afternoon, and Omar has to be content on bouncing ideas off only Nadia.

When the food is ready and it’s almost time for Omar’s parents and the guests to arrive, Guzman turns to Ander and asks. “So when do you want to leave?”

“What?”

“When do you wanna go?” Guzman asks again.

“Go where?” Omar asks. They’ve all relocated to the living room and have been discussing absolutely nothing, waiting for the guests to invade their space.

Guzman shrugs. “I don’t know, back to our place?” He looks at Ander. Omar feels like he’s missing something, like whatever Guzman’s trying to communicate is going over his head. He looks toward Ander, but Ander looks confused as well.

No one responds, and so Guzman continues.

“Or to a restaurant, whatever you want, man.” The last part is directed at Ander.

“Ander’s not leaving,” Omar says, finally, understanding enough to know that Guzman is trying to take Ander away for the night. “He’s gonna stay for dinner. Are you leaving?”

“I mean, I thought… that maybe he wouldn’t want to stay and I figured I’d go with him, to keep him company.”

“No, I’m staying,” Ander says this time, getting it too. “I’m supposed to be here for emotional hand holding.”

“Ok,” Guzman says slowly. “But you guys have like stripped this apartment of your relationship so I’m guessing you’re just the roommate?” He goes on after Ander nods. “Won’t your presence be suspicious and awkward?” Guzman asks.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ander shrugs. “But I’m just doing what he wants.” He indicates Omar with his head.

“And you don’t think there’s a problem?” Guzman turns to Nadia.

Nadia’s brow furrows in concentration. After a moment she shrugs. “If it’s what Omar needs then it’s what Omar needs.”

“Ok,” Guzman says and the conversation moves on as everyone attempts to mentally prepare themselves for the guests.

\--

Dinner is extremely tense.

Omar’s parents arrive with Maryam and her family in tow. They take no heed of the apartment, don’t even look around. Maryam’s mother mumbles something about Omar having a nice place, then promptly goes quiet when her husband glares at her. At a loss for what to do, Omar offers them food.

But sitting down at dinner is no better.

No one seems to want to talk. Omar’s parents eat silently, occasionally asking Nadia or Omar to pass them some food. Maryam sits with her mother and father, silent as well. The three of them make no eye contact with anyone. The silence is only broken by the sound of the silverware clashing against the plates, a reminder of how deeply uncomfortable everyone in the room may be.

During the whole dinner, Omar feels like he can’t breathe. He thinks how terrible an idea this dinner has been, how not only will it not make Maryam’s family willing to accept his apology, it will make them feel insulted.

Gradually, painfully, dinner passes.

After dinner, the party moves to the living room. Omar sits on a couch with his parents. Maryam and her parents sit on one opposite them. Nadia, Guzman and Ander have taken the chairs from the dining room and are sitting on one side, attempting to stay as unobtrusive as possible.

Omar envies them.

It’s like they’re all in a game of chicken, and the first person who speaks will inevitably lose.

Guzman coughs, and Omar thinks that of course it’s him who loses his patience first.

The second person to give in is Maryam’s father.

“You have a very nice place,” he says, looking around the apartment, as if he hadn’t shushed his wife earlier for saying just that. Omar wonders if he’s saying this out of desperation to start a conversation. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Thank you,” Omar answers, feeling like a fraud. The apartment is another benefit that came with Ander, like all good things in Omar’s life. “I couldn’t afford it alone though.”

“Ah,” Maryam’s father says and another silence falls.

Omar, uncertain of what to do, turns to his father for guidance. His father mouths “apologize,” looking exasperated.

Omar nods, clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak. “Thank you for coming,” he begins. He addresses his words toward Maryam. Though he barely spoke to her during their engagement, he feels that she had the most to lose from the situation. “I invited you here, well… me and my parents… because we wanted to give you and your family an explanation. I think I owe it to you, since I gave you my word and then didn’t go through with the wedding.”

Maryam’s gaze is fixed on him as he speaks, though Omar doesn’t know her well enough to be able to clue in to her feelings. Her father and mother are watching him too, though their unhappiness is more clearly written on their faces. Omar cannot make them happy, the only thing he can do at this point is to apologize and be as honest as he can be.

“So here’s my explanation, if you want to hear it.” Omar takes a deep breath. “A while ago, my mom got diagnosed with a very difficult illness and she asked me to marry a nice Muslim girl. I was in a very emotionally vulnerable place and some personal stuff were messing with my judgment making abilities and I…”

He stops, unsure of how to go on. He doesn’t want to call himself a goddamn idiot in front of practical strangers, but he’s not sure how to put it politely.

“You’ve always been bad at making decisions,” Nadia says carefully from her stool by the wall.

Omar sends a glare her way, though he’s thankful that she helped him. “My sister is right. I haven’t had the best track record when it comes to making good decisions.” He concedes.

Maryam nods slowly, next to her, her parents shift.

“I’m sorry to say I made a bad decision in telling my parents that I was willing to get married. I wouldn’t have done it under any other circumstance. The truth is, I couldn’t go through with an arranged marriage because I can’t enter into a loveless marriage.” That’s not all there is of course, but Omar won’t say anymore about that, no matter how much he wants to.

“But,” Maryam says, speaking up for the very first time. “An arranged marriage is a legitimate way for people to get married.”

Omar frowns. “Not anymore,” he says. “Generally you date someone before getting married, to get to know them...”

“Maybe,” Maryam continues. Her brows furrow and Omar tries to identify whether she’s frustrated, annoyed, or confused. “But that’s not really how people in our culture get married. That’s not how my parents got married, and they’re actually from Palestine. They didn’t know each other at all before they married and they love each other. You get married and you fall in love with your spouse. You marry someone that’s right for you, that your parents, who know better, who are older and more experienced, chose for you. How can you not want that?”

“How can you want that?” Omar can’t stop himself from asking. He thinks that Maryam’s words are the echo of an older generation’s beliefs; a generation that left their country and culture behind, only to be faced with foreign customs. He thinks that maybe people like Maryam’s parents and his own have clung to that culture so fiercely because they’re afraid of losing it. Omar doesn’t agree with them, but he understands their fear.

Maryam’s frown turns deeper, more angry. “I respect my parents and trust their choices. I don’t want to question a system that clearly works.”

The statement is said with such finality that Omar finds himself lost for words.

“Ok, but.” This is Ander speaking. He’s said nothing else all night, choosing to hover by Guzman’s side and make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Although his attempts at emulating a ghost hadn’t stopped Maryam and her family from frowning in his general direction several times during dinner.

“Respecting your parents’ choices doesn’t mean you’ll fall in love with whoever they choose. That’s not really how falling in love works, and people don’t always fall in love in arranged marriages. they learn to live with it. That’s not love, that’s acceptance.”

Everyone turns to look at him then, as if because he hadn’t said anything up to this point, they had forgotten that he existed.

Ander drops his gaze as everyone’s focuses on him. “Just saying,” he mumbles. He learned this from Nadia, Omar knows. These are her opinions coming out of his mouth, but Omar is glad he’s saying them, that he’s standing up for Omar.

“And who cares what you’re saying? Who is this?” Maryam says pointing to Ander. “Is he like someone’s brother or…?”

Ander is quick to respond. “No, I just live here.”

“No,” Omar says, unable to stop himself. “He doesn’t just live here--”

“He’s my best friend,” Guzman cuts off Omar’s sentence. “He was the best man at my wedding.”

“But I don’t understand why that has anything to do with him being here,” Maryam’s father comments. “This is a family matter.”

“It doesn’t, because that’s not why he’s here.” Omar is so tired. He’s tired of having to argue with these people, he’s tired of lying and he’s angry at himself, at his family, at the toxic beliefs and stupid decisions that have led him into this situation. He’s angry and he doesn’t want to pretend anymore. “He’s here because I asked him to be here… Because he’s--”

“Omar shut the fuck up.”

Silence follows Ander’s outburst, but Ander doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking at Omar, concern and determination written on his face. “Shut up,” he says, softly this time. What he doesn’t say rings loudly in Omar’s ears. _Now is not the time to do this, _he would say if he could_, not after we’ve come so far._

But he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for Omar’s sake, and Omar doesn’t want it anymore.

He doesn’t care about this false fucking equilibrium. He wants to topple it down and watch it burn.

Omar closes his eyes, squeezes them, so that he doesn’t have to look Ander in the eye when he does this. “He’s not here because of Guzman. He’s here because he’s my boyfriend.” Only after the words have left his mouth does Omar open his eyes. He doesn’t look at his parents, or his sister and her husband, or the people he’s had to invite to his apartment because of mistakes he’s made. He looks at Ander. “He’s here because I love him,” Omar says slowly, determined. “And I asked him to be here for emotional support.”

He watches Ander raise his head, brows close together, chin up. And then to Omar’s surprise, he smiles, dropping his head and shaking it. “Not the fucking time,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry, he sounds relieved and Omar knows it’s because he’s done the only thing Ander has ever wanted from him; he’s said who Ander is to him in front of his parents.

“Not the time,” Nadia echoes, her voice a whisper, but unlike Ander there’s no smile there. Omar’s gaze shifts from Ander toward her, only to see that her eyes are wide, worried.

“It’s never the right time,” Omar says to them both, then turns back to Maryam. “As to your point,” he says, and he feels bolder, maybe only because everyone has been shocked into silence. “I can’t fall in love with you, or anyone after marriage like you claim your parents did because I’m already in love. And as to trusting my parents’ choice, how can I, when they don’t know the most important thing about me?”

He looks over at Ander again, because he wants to see the look on Ander’s face, to see the happiness. Ander is looking at him expectantly, waiting. Omar has said this much, he might as well continue.

“That I’m gay,” Omar continues. “Very gay.”

It feels like catharsis, saying it in front of so many people, saying it in front of his parents. Omar doesn’t look at them now. He doesn’t even care what they think or how they will act. It’s as if something inside him broke when Maryam and her family started attacking Ander and now he doesn’t care about politeness or apologizing or how scandalized his parents most definitely are. “I’m sorry for what I did,” he says anyway, just to put an end to this conversation. “It was a mistake and no explanation I give will satisfy you all. But I want you all to know that I’m truly sorry.” He sighs, will this even look like an apology in his father’s eyes? At this point, does this farce even matter to his father? “So thank you for coming,” he says standing. “Thank you for giving me a chance to explain. I’m sorry again.” He gestures toward the door, wondering if he’s being rude. “But I think it’s time you guys left.”

Every one stands, as if they’re puppets, their strings being pulled by a single entity. But it’s only Maryam and her family that walk silently towards the exit.

At the door, her father turns around. “Thank you for having us,” he says. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but he closes it after several attempts. “Goodbye.”

Omar closes the door after them and slowly turns to face his family. His parents are staring at him, speechless.

In the silence, Guzman says, “Maybe it’s better if Ander and I leave.”

“No.” Omar’s father isn’t even looking at Guzman when he says this. “No, I want this one to stay.” He turns slowly towards Ander then and Omar has to resist the urge to fling himself toward them, to put himself between Ander and his father, to shield Ander from whatever is about to come.

Omar is used to his father’s outbursts, Ander is not.

“I knew there was something familiar about you,” Omar’s father says to Ander. “I just couldn’t place it.”

Omar is not sure what his father is talking about, but Ander doesn’t look confused.

“That was you at the school, ten years ago, yelling at me.”

Ander looks defiant. “Yeah.”

Omar’s father shakes his head. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

“We ignore the things we don’t want to see,” Ander responds. “Not recognizing me was easier for you.”

Omar’s father nods, like he’s judging Ander based on his response. Then he turns to Nadia. “And I’m guessing you knew.”

Nadia shrugs.

“How long?” Omar’s father asks her. “How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning.”

He nods again, taking everything in.

“And when were you going to tell us?” Omar’s mother surprises everyone when she speaks up. Five pair of eyes turn to her in disbelief. “Were you ever going to tell us, Omar?” She asks, distraught. “Were you going to let me die without knowing?”

Omar goes to her instantly, kneeling in front of her. “Mom,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you but…”

“But what?” This is Omar’s father, but Omar doesn’t turn toward him. He stays in front of his mother instead, grabbing her fragile hands with his own.

“I was so scared,” he says to her, willing her to understand. “I was afraid of you hating me.” he’s still afraid of his parents hating him, but there’s no going back now. Omar doesn’t want to go back. “I didn’t want to break your heart.”

This is the second time in less than a week that Omar has made his mother cry. He watches as she wipes the tears away from her face, reaches out to help her with them even, but she bats his hand away.

“Son,” she says finally, cradling his face with her hands. “I’ve lost a child already. God knows where she is, but maybe if I had been more careful,” she stops, looking toward Omar’s father. “If we had been more careful, more loving, she would still be with us.”

It’s odd, jarring even, for Omar to hear his mother talk about their eldest daughter. Ever since she disappeared, no one has brought her up, no one has even talked about her existence.

“I don’t want to lose another child,” she says. “Not for anything.” She glances up then back at him. “If this is what makes you happy, I don’t have to like it, I don’t even have to approve of it, but I’m not going to hate you for it.”

“Thank you,” Omar whispers, because this is the best reaction he could have hoped for. It’s actually a reaction that he didn’t permit himself to think about, when he entertained telling his parents. There had always been shouts involved in his calculations.

His mother pulls him into a tight hug, holding him for what feels like minutes. When she releases him, she motions for Ander to come to them.

“I like you,” she says, grabbing Ander’s hand and squeezing. “I’ve always liked you. I still like you, even though you’re nothing like the nice, Muslim, daughter-in-law I imagined.”

“I think I’m nice,” Ander says with a sheepish smile. “Can’t do anything about the rest though.” That makes Omar’s mother laugh and Omar smiles, relief running through him at her easy acceptance.

“So.” Everyone turns, this time toward Omar’s dad. He gestures for Omar and Ander to take a seat, then sits across from them.

Silence follows, too long, and from the corner of his eye, Omar notices Nadia and Guzman quietly walking towards the bedroom, removing themselves from so sensitive a conversation.

Finally, after his father has made no move to speak, Omar decides to take it upon himself to start the conversation.

“I don’t expect you to be happy,” he says. “Or even understand. You sacrificed a lot to be here, in this country, to give me and Nadia more than you had growing up. I understand how disappointing it must be to see me step away from all your beliefs but…” he stops, there’s emotion clogging up his throat, tears threatening to fall out of his eyes. “But this is who I am dad, and I can’t live any other way. I can’t pretend. I can’t get rid of it.”

“I think,” Omar’s father responds after a pause. “That this conversation is several years too late.”

Confused, Omar nods.

“When you were sixteen, a very rude, very angry teenager tried to tell me what you just told me,” Omar’s father continues after a brief, almost indulgent glance toward Ander. “And at the time I was so angry, angry at the insult to me, to you, to our family and religion. Fortunately for you and your angry teenager, I’ve had ten years to get used to the idea.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’m not going to sit here and tell you that _I knew_. I didn’t know, but I think that’s because I didn’t want to see what was in front of me. I can’t tell you that I knew, but I can tell you I suspected.” He turns to Ander. “You were around way too much for it to be normal.”

Ander shrugs, not meeting Omar’s father’s eyes.

“And I’m going to be honest with you, I was relieved when you said you would marry Maryam, because of my suspicions. I was relieved and happy to be proven wrong. This one,” he indicates Ander with his chin. “_Was_ just a roommate after all. But… nothing sat right. Then you didn’t go through with the wedding, and when you showed up with _him _in tow, well…” Omar’s father sighs. “There are just some things that you cannot ignore.”

Omar nods. This is going a lot better than he expected.

“I don’t like it. I don’t want to see it flaunted in my house,” he continues. “It’s not something that’s easy for me to accept,” he stops. “But I will accept it.”

His words seem to lift a burden from Omar’s shoulder. For the first time that night, he feels light, free, happy.

“I will accept it,” Omar’s father continues. “Because you are my son.”

“Thank you,” Omar forces out. He has to blink and blink and blink, or else tears will fall out of his eyes. “I know how hard this must be for you.”

“It’s hard.” Omar’s father raises a hand, placing it firmly on Omar’s shoulder, encouraging him to look up. “But we go through difficulties for our children. The onus is on me to accept it as the parent.”

Omar nods.

“And you,” Omar’s father turns to Ander.

“Sorry for yelling at you when I was sixteen,” Ander says, the cheeky bastard, with some amount of sarcasm laced in his voice. “I was out of line.”

“Well,” Omar’s father says after he’s taken in the comment. “I forgive you.”

\---

Omar and Ander don’t get married immediately after these events.

Almost as soon as Omar comes out to his parents, his mother’s condition worsens. There are weeks where Omar and Nadia sit by her bedside day and night, afraid that any moment will be her last. Then, as suddenly as her conditioned had worsened, it gets better. She begins to regain her health, gaining weight and looking more and more like her old self as time goes on.

It’s a goddamn miracle, Omar tells Ander, though he doesn’t believe in miracles.

It’s when she’s better, walking by herself, cooking and eating like she used to, that she sits Omar down for a talk.

“I think it’s time you get married,” she says to him kindly. “It’s passed the time, really.”

And that little push is enough. Several mornings later, after he’s picked out a ring with the help of his sister and her husband, he wakes up a very grumpy Ander with a proposal and a ring.

“You finally want to get married?” Ander asks when he’s gotten over the surprise. His voice is still gruff from sleep, but he seems to be unable to stop smiling.

“Yes.”

“Make our relationship as valid as Nadia’s?” Ander asks, because he’s an ass.

Omar smiles, kissing the tip of Ander’s nose, then his brow. “Our relationship has always been _more_ valid than Nadia’s.”

Ander laughs, pushing at Omar’s shoulder so he can look him in the eye. “Has it?”

Omar nods. “I haven’t heard a yes.”

“Only because it’s a stupid question,” Ander answers, kissing Omar again. “Of course the answer is yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _ No Me Doy Por Vencido _ (slightly altered) by Luis Fonsi.
> 
> \--
> 
> Couple of things:
> 
> 1\. Almost every comment on my last fic was asking for a sequel and I understand it's been five million years but I did it. I wrote the sequel. Somehow it ended up being longer than the original.
> 
> 2\. This fic was extremely difficult to write. I've never wanted to show extreme homophobia in my fics, because the real world is bad enough, and I didn't want to vilify Omar's family. The combination of those two things made this story a challenge. I hope I managed to keep it in character, despite the way I wrote Omar's family.
> 
> 3\. My great and amazing beta, who always turns my shitty first drafts into something presentable, recently watched Elite for the first time and she thinks it's hilarious that I didn't put Samuel in this story or the one before. So let's pretend that Samuel's been on vacation... or something.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm on [tumblr](https://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/) and love to talk about Elite. Can't wait till season 2.


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